


The way forward

by irisdouglasiana



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Gen, omg symbolism, sorry for all the angst, vernon masters is basically the devil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 09:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8366968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisdouglasiana/pseuds/irisdouglasiana
Summary: After Jack buries the white flag in Okinawa, he volunteers for every dangerous mission, deliberately puts himself in harm’s way, makes stupid and reckless choices that cement his reputation and raise a few eyebrows—and still, he lives; comes back to the States both breathing and physically intact. But there are plenty of other ways to self destruct.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm putting a content warning on this for some mentions of suicide, so please take care.

_Here is what they don’t tell you when you’re twenty-four, fresh out of officer training and eager to prove yourself, and they land your ass in Ormoc Bay, in Luzon, in Okinawa: you’ll be scared shitless, and it will only get worse. You’ll see things you can’t unsee and the nightmares will stalk you for the rest of your life. You’ll do things you can’t undo. When it’s four in the morning and you’re frantically scraping the earth away with your hands and shoving that white flag in the hole, you will realize it’s your own grave you’re digging. And you’ll do it to yourself again and again._

* * *

After Jack buries the white flag, he volunteers for every dangerous mission, deliberately puts himself in harm’s way, makes stupid and reckless choices that cement his reputation and raise a few eyebrows—and still, he lives; comes back to the States both breathing and physically intact, unlike a lot of other men. Better men than him. So because he couldn’t find a way to die overseas, he embarks on other methods of self-destruction instead.

Sometimes suicide isn’t obvious. Sometimes it can take years. But you can always bring down other people with you.

* * *

Sousa is his earliest target at the SSR. They start work on the same day, actually, both of them trailing around after Dooley as he introduces them to the other agents. Jack is sure to straighten up next to Sousa and keep his distance, so as to not be associated with an obvious pity hire—Jack’s pretty certain that it was his father’s connections landed Jack this job, but no matter—and he directs all his comments and jokes to Dooley to test how far he can go with his new boss. But as they stop by the lab and Dooley gets distracted talking to one of the scientists, Sousa leans in and says to him, “It’s not contagious, you know.” There’s no doubt what he’s referring to. Jack flushes and looks away.

Later, Jack’s working on his first case with Sousa and Krzeminski, and they’re missing a file. Jack turns to Sousa and says, “Hey, be a pal and find that file for me, will ya?” See which way he jumps. Or not.

Sousa’s expression goes from startled to resentful to resigned, and for a second Jack thinks he’ll tell him to get the damn file himself, but then he nods and drops his gaze and pushes himself up from his chair without a word. After he leaves, Krzeminski gets up and fakes a limp, and Jack laughs along. It’s mean and it feels good.

When Carter starts a few months later, Jack says to nobody in particular, “I guess they just let _anybody_ join the SSR now.”

* * *

Under the canopy of the trees and with the fire out, it’s nearly pitch black when Jack takes watch with Carter. He can’t help thinking how it’s been over a year now since he took watch on the other side of the world, and he needs to remind himself that he’s in Belarus, not Okinawa, and things will be different this time. He should be over it by now, right?

But Okinawa keeps creeping back, no matter what he does. He saw the respect and admiration on the faces of Carter and the Commandos when he told them the story he’s come to hate; the lie that’s come to define him. His shame metastasizes with every telling. In the back of his mind, he knows that he can’t keep running from the truth forever. One day it will catch up with him…

In the dim light, he can see his comrades stretched out on the ground, asleep and unaware. Whether it’s the Commandos or his own guys, Davis and Jamieson and Gutierrez and all the rest, he can’t tell, but the six Japanese soldiers are lying beside them. Their blood saturates the soil; a dark stain spreads on the white flag. He shovels dirt over their bodies and carefully covers their faces last. One by one, he returns them to the earth.

Jack feels a light tap on the shoulder and he snaps awake. It’s Carter. He realizes he did it again; fell asleep when he was supposed to be watching. He shrugs her off and looks away. She doesn’t say anything, but there’s no pretending. She saw him.

In the Leviathan compound the next day, under heavy fire, he freezes up. He always chokes when it counts.

* * *

All things considered, Jack’s been keeping it together pretty well after the shit hit the fan. He doesn’t start cracking until a few days after the business with Leviathan has been put to rest, when he’s cleaning out Dooley’s office. The windows have been replaced but there are still shards of glass everywhere and he cuts up his hands a few times as he sifts through piles of paperwork with the chief’s notes scrawled in the margins. Dooley’s hat is still hanging on the coat rack and the pictures of his wife and kids are still on the desk, frames cracked and broken. He puts those in a box to send to Dooley’s wife.

And that’s fine, he’s fine, everything is fine until he’s sitting in the chief’s chair, seeing the office from Dooley’s vantage point. He picks up Dooley’s mug and holds it for a minute. The bottom is stained brown from coffee; he never even had a chance to rinse it out. “Chief Thompson,” Jack says out loud, and suddenly it all comes crashing down on him. He sets the mug down carefully on the desk and buries his face in his hands.

Because isn’t he getting everything he wanted? A Navy Cross, chief of the SSR, congressional honors, and he’s not even thirty yet. But, god, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Those Japanese soldiers shouldn’t have died. Dooley shouldn’t have died. Dooley should be strolling into his office right now and barking at Jack to get the hell out of his chair.

Sousa, naturally, chooses that exact moment to walk in. “Jack, need your signature on these…” he trails off as he sees the expression on Jack’s face.

“Leave it,” Jack says hoarsely.

Sousa does just that, not even looking at Jack as he sets the papers on the desk and leaves without a word. Once he’s gone, Jack wipes his eyes and blindly scrawls his signature at the bottom of the page. He puts the mug in the box with the rest of Dooley’s personal effects and closes it. He’ll have to change up the office: a new coat of paint, new chair, new desk, new rug, new name on the door, everything. Leave no trace of the past chief to linger behind. Keep digging the hole deeper. Bury him.

* * *

_You’re so afraid of ruffling powerful feathers that doing what you always do: burying an ugly truth, and hoping someone will pin a medal on you._

Telling Carter about Okinawa was a mistake; he knew it back when they were still in the air over Belarus and he knows it now. After she storms out of the office with Sousa trailing after her like a puppy, Jack paces around and resists the urge to hit something. Carter has no goddamn right to throw the past in his face like this. And all the things she’s asking him to do; to go out and make accusations of election rigging and cover ups and god knows what else, doesn’t she realize it’ll be _his_ ass on the line when the case inevitably goes belly-up? Doesn’t she know how much he has to lose?

…So she’s not really wrong about him, after all. He’s exactly the man she thinks he is, and this is why she has to go. But she’s also not wrong that there’s something fishy about the whole Isodyne business, and he knows it even as he makes the necessary alterations to the report. Newspapers predicting the future, framed scientists, government conspiracies—it’s a lot to swallow without evidence, but then again he’s seen some pretty strange things. He remembers Peggy’s actions in New York over Leviathan, and what could have been prevented if they had listened to her sooner. And yet.

The roll of film Vernon wants is sitting in the desk drawer. “I trust you,” Jack says a little uneasily as he hands it over later.

Vernon examines the film and smiles. Tells him he’s doing a great job. Tells him he deserves a medal.

* * *

Jack is pretty sure his hand is broken from taking down Underwood, but it’s the least of his concerns. Alone at the bar, he sips at his whiskey, shuts his eyes, and replays his conversation with Vernon over and over. Take out Carter. Discredit, disgrace, subdue. Climb the only ladder that matters.

When he opens his eyes he pictures Vernon sitting next to him. _Jack_ , Vernon would say, _I don’t ask for much. Just do me this one small thing, and you can have everything you want. You’re so close now. Can’t you see it—walking through the halls of Congress, bending down to whisper in the president’s ear? Can’t you taste it—the power that keeps the machine running; that keeps the world spinning in our favor?_

Jack looks down at his half-empty glass and swirls the liquid. _Nothing is free, Vernon. What’s the cost?_

Vernon bares his teeth in a grin, and Jack already knows the answer. _Only you, Jack. Only your soul. But that was never worth much, was it?_

* * *

At the SSR, Jack runs into Sousa coming down the stairs, and he can’t quite hide his shock. Sousa’s got a split lip and bandage over one eyebrow and he’s obviously in pain as he grips the railing and takes the steps one at a time. “Jesus, Sousa, what the hell…”

Sousa looks ready to kill him. “Ask your friend Vernon,” he snarls, and for a moment Jack recalls that same rage in his expression he saw in the theater months earlier, a kind of anger that Jack’s never really possessed. “I’m surprised you didn’t join in on the fun. You like to hit things.”

Jack recoils. “That’s what you think, huh?” But of course he does: Sousa’s watched Jack punching suspects just because he could; he’s been on the receiving end of dozens of jokes Jack made at his expense and never apologized for.  

Sousa takes another halting step down so he and Jack are on the same level. “I think you’d better figure out who you’re really working for and why you’re really here, Jack,” he says quietly, and takes off before Jack can come up with a suitable reply.

It’s jarring to see Vernon seated behind Sousa’s desk. “Take a seat, Jack,” he says, gesturing at the chair across from him. He looks extremely pleased with himself. “There’s been a bit of a change in command here—I thought Chief Sousa was in need of some time off, so I’ll be stepping in for now.”

“Is that…necessary?”

Vernon frowns. “I’ve got an investigation to handle here, and I require cooperation. If people stand in your way, you remove them. Now, any progress on that Carter woman? I want no more interference from her.”

Jack shifts in his seat. “Ah…not yet. I’m following up on some leads, but I’ll need to pay a trip to London.”

“I need it soon, Jack,” Vernon says. “We need to get this case wrapped up as quickly and discreetly as possible. Just remember you’re performing a great service to your country. And to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack answers slowly, wondering how he never realized it before. It doesn’t matter that he’s known Vernon practically his whole life; Jack’s disposable and always has been. Power only protects power. It won’t protect him. And at last he’s starting to see that maybe, just maybe, there’s another way forward.

* * *

Several days later in the hotel room, he doesn’t even hear the shot that brings him down. But he feels it.

* * *

When he wakes, there’s a terrible weight on his chest and he can barely breathe. Every part of his body is in pain, and even in his muddled state, he has a feeling that he’s never going to be the same again. Somehow, that doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. But he’s alive; the bullet didn’t end him, and for the first time in his life he thinks that maybe he survived for a reason.

And he isn’t alone. Seated across from the bed, Sousa is asleep with his head on Carter’s shoulder and his mouth wide open. His shirt is rumpled and he clearly hasn’t shaved in a few days, and Carter doesn’t look much better. Her head is tilted back and her eyes are closed. Jack remembers how she called him a good man, a _good man_ , when she knew better than anybody who he really is and all the things he’d done, and how she still had faith anyway. He wonders where faith like that comes from. He wonders what he can do to be worthy of it.

Jack tries to make a quip about what a lousy security detail the two of them are, only his voice comes out as a wheeze. Even talking hurts. Still, it’s loud enough that Carter opens her eyes. She straightens up carefully so as not to disturb Sousa, and that’s when Jack notices Carter’s hand in his. He’ll be teasing them about that later, for sure.

Carter yawns and smiles at Jack. He smiles back.

It’s a small thing, but it’s a start. And that’s enough.

* * *

_Here is what they don’t tell you about starting over: it’s harder than you think. But you’ll make it, bit by bit. You’ll learn that you were wrong about a lot of things. You’ll learn that burying your guilt will never make it go away, and so you’ll give back the medals you never deserved. You’ll learn to say sorry; you’ll learn that sorry isn’t always enough to earn forgiveness. You’ll try to make things right, and sometimes you will and sometimes you won’t, and so you’ll try again. You’ll learn to trust. That is the most difficult part and it will take a long time, maybe almost the rest of your life._

_All this so that one morning, you’ll wake up and look in the mirror and you’ll decide that you’re ready to live, after all._

**Author's Note:**

> Jack's never been a favorite of mine, but still, I feel like we reached some sort of understanding by writing this one. But oh boy, angst angst angst.


End file.
